Tag: moamiswriting

“I’m not a good person,” Kageyama says, one day. “Don’t get closer.” 

“I think I like you,” Hinata says, easy as breathing. 

“Don’t trust me. I only disappoint everyone,” Kageyama tries again, many days later. “I mess up.”

“You are amazing,” Hinata says and touches his hand. “You make me fly.” 

“No,” and months later, Kageyama begs, cries, yells. “No, you don’t understand, Hinata, no. Stay away from me. I can’t. I don’t want to hurt you. You mean too much, I can’t – please. I hurt all of them, and I can’t, not with you – “ 

“I’m not your old team. I’m your decoy,” Hinata whispers into the soft skin of his mouth. “Please, Kageyama, please. Let’s try. Let me. I’m here. You can’t hurt me. You’re not a bad person.” Then, soft, very quiet. “I’ve loved you for months.”

And then, after Hinata paints gentleness into Kageyama’s chest with his smiles, the touch of his tiny fingers, the adoration radiating from his eyes. Kageyama surrenders. 

“Yes,” Kageyama says, one day. “Me too, Shouyou. Me too.”

His regular medical examination goes without incident until the doctor takes a deep breath. Since this is a typical human indicator of the wish to share information, Spock says: “Yes?” He makes sure to raise his voice in question. 

The doctor makes a thoughtful noise, and Spock detects a hint of pity in his expression. “Damn, I’m sorry. I know it ain’t nice for you to be touched by someone else, but we gotta – “ 

“I am aware that examinations are an important part of maintaining the crew’s health.” 

McCoy nods. “Well, yeah. But – I mean.” He shrugs a bit and runs a hand through his hair. “Especially when I look at your hands, ‘s gotta be uncomfortable, right? Isn’t that like a kiss? You know, humans kiss differently – “

Spock raises an eyebrow. “The mechanics of human intimacy are not unfamiliar to me, Doctor. You do not need to lecture me. And your touch does not cause me any physical or mental harm, as it is purely professional.” 

“Right.” McCoy takes a step back, the pity having vanished from his face. 

After he has dressed himself and is almost out of the sickbay’s door, Spock turns around once more. “Do not worry about my knowledge considering the part of human sexuality that you refer to as ‘kissing’. The Captain’s private lessons have been very effective, and they still are every night, if I may say so.”

Spock may or may not be smiling to himself when he hears the doctor curse in a thick Southern accent as soon as he leaves the sickbay. Another lesson awaits.

Koushi thinks that calling Daichi his ‘lover’ is wrong. Neither ‘friend’ nor ‘boyfriend’ fits the connection that runs between them. 

No. Daichi is the scent of his mother’s hot milk with honey. He is the smell of hay and wild summer nights and kisses under an eclipse of rain that ran down Koushi’s skin and wiped away his silver, lonely tears with the shimmering kindness of Daichi’s warm hands. 

Daichi is not a lover. Because if this man would take his hand and tell him ‘trust me’, Koushi’s lips and eyes spell yes in a language that is older than love itself.

Daichi is not a lover. He is and will forever be, the colour of gold in Koushi’s soul.

Tooru is an expert at flirting. Really, he is. He’s been charming women and girls since elementary school, and he’s good at it. Being cute helps, though, and Tooru is adorable, okay? Extremely, absolutely adorable. 

But Tooru is also a giant idiot, because he’s fallen in love with the only person who is immune against all of his weapons. It’s a boy. It’s his best friend. And suddenly, Tooru is lying on his bed, clutching his phone tightly and typing a message that he knows he’s gonna regret. But you know – desperate times… Okay. He’s just gonna ask him to come over. They rarely meet outside volleyball anymore – and hey, why not throw in a little teasing? Iwa won’t get it, anyways.

[to: Iwa-chan ♥]
wanna come over for volleyball and chill? ❤ 

He’s done it. He really just sent this message. Tooru closes his eyes and takes a deep breath, trying to hold in the helpless squeal that builds in his throat. Then, his phone vibrates. 

[from: Iwa-chan ♥]
We already had practice today. And I know what x and chill means, idiot.

Tooru forgets how to breathe. He’s fucked up. Oh – oh God – another message?

[from: Iwa-chan ♥]
On the other hand, I’m down for kiss and chill. If that gets you to finally make a move on me and stop staring like a lovesick puppy. 

The noise that comes out of Tooru’s mouth is terrible close to those little squeaks that girls make when they spot him on the court. And when Tooru’s mother opens the front door to Iwa, barely ten minutes later, Tooru greets him with a gleaming smile and an imprint of the pillow on his cheek – where he’s pressed his face into the soft fabric and screamed his happiness into it, before he’d sent a message back. 

[to: Iwa-chan ♥]
forget chill. I only want the first part, every day from now on. and come over now!

The young men that approach Kenma with slick smiles and confident hands full of gestures bring hundreds and thousands of words with them. They are taller than him, dark or light hair, eyes that glint and stare at his body like he’s fresh meat or soft, warm prey to bite into. 

They pour pet names over him and try to weave a tooth-rotting sweetness underneath his skin. Oh, you are such a pretty one. What is a cute thing like you doing, in a big city like Tokyo? You study – what? Computer sciences? A face like yours could do model jobs, sweetheart. Can you smile for me? I can walk you home. Hey, come on, talk to me. Hey, cutie. Come on. Don’t ignore me. What’s wrong with you? Slut. Tease.

He doesn’t lower his head. He doesn’t duck or run. He looks at them, into the blackness of their greedy eyes, and counts to five. Then, he walks off, slowly. The only thing he ever mentions is what he studies. And, sometimes: “I have a boyfriend. Do not touch me.” Kenma isn’t scared. His heart belongs somewhere.

When he drives home for the weekend, in a train that’s fast enough to blur the world into a maelstrom of colours outside, he’s already on the phone. His boyfriend’s voice is soothing, his laughter kind, happy, sometimes teasing. 

And when Kenma is curled against Kuroo’s chest at night, he traces his fingers over that pale throat until his nails leave a soft streak, painless, barely there. Kuroo’s head then drops back, his body tensing. 

“God, Kenma,” a mumble into the darkness of Kenma’s hair. “Yours. All yours.”

Kenma smiles, only then, for him. His heart belongs. He belongs, and owns.

“You’re mine.” 

And Kuroo nods, whimpers softly when Kenma’s teeth scrape along his collarbone, until he sucks at his skin and paints him a careful, gentle blue.

“I know you want to hear that I love you,” Hajime tells him one day. Tooru is surprised – one minute they’re cuddling, and then Hajime reaches for his bag and pulls out a crumpled sheet of paper, his cheeks blushing a deep crimson. Tooru wants to ask what’s wrong, but Hajime just pushes the paper into his hands. “Just read it. I can’t say it out loud, so – please. This is for you. It’s yours.” 

And because Tooru is eternally curious and eager for Hajime’s words, he reads.

One day, my love, I’ll tell you 
How the white gold of your eyes
Conjured dawn’s kiss in my dead heart
Took my darkness with a smile 

And if silver dew of sadness
Crowns the blind spot in your chest
I will fight all of your battles 
I will lay your fears to rest

It’s quiet when Tooru sets the paper down. Hajime watches him, eyes flickering between the poetry and Tooru’s eyes. “Sorry if it’s bad.” 
But he goes silent when Tooru falls into his arms, silent tears on his cheeks, and curls against his chest like something tiny and vulnerable. “Don’t apologize,” Tooru whispers, kissing Hajime’s knuckles. “You gave me more than I love you, and that’s all I need. You gave me – you.” And Hajime just smiles, and holds him.

Tooru is seven and holds his mother’s hand tightly. He remembers that it’s an innocent summer day as they walk home from school when the old woman from the house next to theirs hisses “yakuza” as Tooru passes by. He doesn’t know the word. A week later, a new, young woman has moved into the house, and she smiles and gives Tooru candy when his mother takes him home from school. He doesn’t see the old woman again. His father says it was an accident. 

Tooru is seventeen and he smiles a lot. He loves volleyball, his grades are good, and his Sunday are spent in front of Hajime’s tv with video games and playful wrestling matches on his soft bed. One day, Tooru wants to kiss him. One day, he’ll be brave. But he always just goes home without anything more than a hug. Tooru doesn’t invite him over. He doesn’t talk about Hajime, but he dreams. 

He’s worried when he comes home from school today – Hajime’s been sick, has missed practice. And as he enters, he can already hear the faint buzz of voices, the deep authorative growl of his father’s speech. Tooru takes a deep breath. He closes the front door, quiet, slips out of his jacket and shoes. One of his father’s men bows and takes him to the living room. “Your father is waiting, Oikawa-san.”

“There you are,” his father says when Tooru comes in. “Good. I need you to help me decide. Iwaizumi-san refuses to show his gratitude for the favours we’ve been doing his company, so his children are on vacation with us now.” 

Tooru cannot breathe. His throat roars. He swallows. The world halts, hisses. 

He doesn’t know the girl that’s tied to a chair, but he would know the boy’s dark brown eyes in blindness and death. Hajime stares, rigid, and the fear shimmering in the blood dripping from his gagged mouth has Tooru jolt. He’s tied, too, on the ground, a bruise on his cheek. No. God, no. Not him. 

Tooru’s father nods to one of his men. The guy takes out a knife. “I think a present will convince Iwaizumi-san to express his gratitude most generously. But which present… I’d say a finger or two. From the girl or boy, Tooru?” 

“The girl.” He doesn’t hesitate. Hajime’s eyes widen, and he screams against the gag. Tooru flinches when one of the men knocks the end of his gun into his head, and Hajime goes silent. 

Tooru’s father pats his shoulder when he passes by, stalking towards the girl who has started to sob into the cloth between her lips. “Take care of the son, will you? And – good choice. I’m certain that Iwaizumi-san will cooperate now.” 

“Yes, father.” Tooru steps forward, kneels by Hajime’s side. It’s only when the girl starts to scream that Tooru leans in to brush his shaking fingers over Hajime’s forehead. He stays like this until the girl doesn’t cry anymore and his father tucks a small, bloody thing into a plastic bag. 

Then, he whispers: “Forgive me.”

There are a million and one things that Kageyama wants to tell Hinata. 

I’ll protect you. Please stay. I’m sorry I’m not good enough. I want to be what you need. Let’s conquer them all, together, let me give you wings and roots and let me be the wind that lifts your hand. 

There are names that he has for Hinata inside his head. Sugar. Treasure. Darling. They’re sweet and don’t come off his lips, swallowed by the insecurity in his tightening throat. 

And in the end, Hinata makes it all easy again. After their thirteenth kiss, in the rain before Hinata’s house, sweat in their hair and salt on their lips from training, that’s when Hinata cups Kageyama’s jaw with trembling hands and whispers: 

“You can call me Shouyou. If you want to.” 

Kageyama wants. He calls Hinata’s real name into the rain-dark silence, and somehow, he’s enough for the boy who’s finally given him a language he can speak. 

Maybe Kageyama never would’ve noticed that something’s off with Hinata – if he hadn’t opened his eyes during one of the secret after-school kisses. Everything is normal, Hinata’s soft mouth is warm against his own, and Kageyama is happy that he can nip and lick at his bottom lip a bit, that he can slide his fingers over Hinata’s neck. Everything is good, until something ice-cold brushes his cheek. 

Kageyama shudders and blinks. His breath knocks out of his lungs with a yelp.

A black thorn protrudes from Hinata’s temple. His eyes are closed, and between his brows is a dark hole, with a slit of red gleaming inside. It looks like a third eye. Oh God. Kageyama cannot breathe. The thorn brushes his cheek again, and then he screams. 

Hinata jumps and pulls back. “What the hell?” 

“You – there was – “ Kageyama stutters, stumbling back, raising a hand to point at – oh. Hinata blinks at him. His forehead looks perfectly normal, except for a worried frown, and his temple is clean. 

“Maybe you should go home. You look a bit sick.” Hinata grabs his bag and pats Kageyama’s shoulder, before kissing his cheek. “See you tomorrow?” Kageyama can only nod, standing paralysed and shivering as Hinata’s steps fade. What the hell? He – he must’ve imagined that. Thorns, a third eye. Bullshit.

Later, he feels guilty for pushing Hinata away like that. He sends him a text with “wanna have a sleepover tnight?”, and offers that they can play games and – yes – make out a bit. They’ve only been together for a few months but Kageyama is pretty damn sure that this is special. He’s glad when Hinata agrees to come, and even accepts his apology. 

It’s the first time that Hinata is over at his place. 
Things don’t really go that well. Hinata seems a bit distant, even when Kageyama tries to kiss him again. It’s not even midnight when Hinata says that he’s tired and wants to sleep. Kageyama frowns but lets him. He watches the dark form of his boyfriend on the futon besides his bed for a long time, before… 

It feels a thousand years later when ice-cold breath brushes over his face. Kageyama blinks. When did he fall asleep? “The hell, Hinata-“ There’s moonlight falling into his room, illuminating the dark figure leaning over his body. 

It’s Hinata – and it’s not. His body is distorted and smeared with blood, and when Kageyama opens his mouth to scream, a thick thorn slams down on his lips and worms its way into his throat. Hinata’s laugh is so low that Kageyama’s stomach turns, he gags, oh God – this can’t be real, but then Hinata’s skin starts to fall off-

“Y’know, darling, this is a really nice body. Young and fresh. But…” 

And this thing, this horrible creature, opens its third eye and licks its tongue over a mouth full of sharp, white teeth. Kageyama’s vision fills with crimson. 

“It’s starting to get a lil’ rotten in here. So – thank you for inviting me in, Tobio.”